A longtime friend recently rebranded her business, not because it isn’t successful (it is a monument to small business, methinks) but instead to reflect all the services it offers with a more contemporary look. I like that line of thinking, because it got me to thinking.

While I can’t rebrand this newspaper or much else around here, maybe I should rebrand myself as I get into the good old home stretch of life.

For starters, I can become a lean mean fighting machine of a hack weekly newspaper editor, and go out in a blaze of fake news glory and 75-point headlines in all caps.

“COUNTY INVADED BY YANKEES! AGAIN!” Actually, that’s not entirely fake.

Maybe I’ll be the hack who does remarkable things every day in this part of the Lowcountry, now an important part of planned unit developments all over the Coastal Empire of Georgia — where life is an exciting adventure well lived by beautiful people and their beautiful mortgage lenders who look awfully good on social media. And it’s all happening right here smack dab amongst all this Lowcountry, which evidently moved down from South Carolina along with the rest of Ohio.

Editor’s note: Being an nth generation South Carolinian tends to make one prickly when it comes to the appropriation of Palmetto State geography. And I digress. Besides, there’s no limit to the horizons under a slick new contemporary brand.

I could get myself manscaped. My long suffering wife would like that, but wouldn’t let me pick my look because I’d go for the Christopher Walken haircut and Cousin Eddie wardrobe. Lime green turtlenecks, white Italian driving loafers and some purple polyester slacks. And a healthy splash of Hai Karate aftershave. And some eyebrow wax. And a Porsche 911. And a real gold plated money clip full of Benjamins.

I’d need a new name, of course, or at least jazz up my old name a bit. Perhaps I’d call myself Marlon Re’Brando, with the working title of International Bad Motor Scooter At Large. And what would a Marlon Re’Brando do?

Well, what does any International Bad Motor Scooter At Large do to make ends meet? Network, that’s what, with a lot of high level hobnobbing and goobersmooching thrown in.

I could be a secret agent and part-time captain of industry, certainly, or one of those corporate raider warlords you read about from time to time after they get probation for shafting pensioners and taxpayers instead of the 100 years playing cornhole in Alcatraz they deserve.

I might even wear pin striped suits, neon socks, cowboy boots and a 40-gallon Stetson, but then people might think I’m a county manager or work for a development authority.

I could start up a nonprofit to teach other people how not to make a profit since I’m certainly expert at it. I’ll call it Monkey’s Uncle Consulting Services, LLC, Inc., LTD, MRE, LVAP, GMAT, because if I’m ever paid to consult on anything I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.

My slogan can be “You’ll pay to hear what I have to say.”

Or maybe I’ll get greedy and entitled, since that seems to be in. Or get into property development, since apparently nothing these days is worse than land that isn’t being busy turned into something else.

Slacker land, that’s what idle land is. We’re entitled to land that makes somebody money instead of land just sitting around mooching off whoever is paying taxes on it. And it doesn’t matter if we run out of land. Someone will just make some more of it.

Maybe I’ll look to make a living being a professional veteran, since that seems to be in demand these days. But I’m no fan of the t-shirts, so instead I could learn to play the horn and tootle like Al Hirt meets Miles Davis meets Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

I might become a movie director, and wander around with my phone on one of those sticks filming people minding their own business then putting it on Tok Tik, or whatever.

Or I could set up a website and publish people’s mugshots once they run afoul of the law, with disclaimers, etc., but somehow cashing in on the misery of others isn’t appealing, even if some of them are probably getting what they deserve.

I might don a cape and jockstrap and chase cows around with a long-snouted Bic candle lighter waiting for them to let loose with some methane. I don’t know why I might do that, but I know why not. Dearth of cows. You see we used to have real cows parked across the street, but not anymore thanks to developers. Now the cows have been rebranded down the road to somewhere else.

It’s a sign of the times. Eventually we all wind up rebranded, one way or another, intentional or not. Have a great weekend while you can.